There was someone shuffling around in the apartment, banging the pots. Occasionally the person would let out a grunt or a frustrated sigh. It was too early in the day for Zane to be home. The guy literally only came to the apartment to sleep. Other than Zane and me, the only person who had keys to the apartment was the maid and she came by every Monday.

Today was Thursday.

I was pacing in front of the apartment, my fingers gripping my phone, as I weighed my options. The neighbour gave me an irritated look when I ran into her a second time. She was a dentist who wore dentures. I only knew this because once I came home late from dance school to be greeted by her gummy smile. She may or may not have been drunk. But the fact that she was a dentist with dentures was ironic and hilarious.

Rolling my eyes at myself, I slid my keys into the lock and slowly spun the knob. I figured that I could probably dropkick the intruder or at least do pique turns around them long enough for me to call the cops.

The smell of onions sautéing on the pan engulfed me. My mouth watered. No one was in the kitchen. What kind of murderer cooked for their victims?

When I let the door slam behind me, Zane popped up from behind the counter. He was wearing a black t-shirt that showed off the muscle on his arms. Over that, he was wearing my Kiss the Cook apron. In one hand, he held a glass bowl and in the other, he was gripping a cheese grater.

Zane rarely ever looked agitated, his face would always be relaxed. Standing behind the counter, though, he looked so flustered that I laughed.

"Shit, Hendrick. I thought you were a murderer," I said, sliding onto a barstool. There was a cookbook propped open on the counter with an array of items neatly arranged beside it.

"If I was a murderer, you would've been dead by now," he said, pointing the grater in my direction.

"Woah, man. Chill. What are you even doing home so early?" I asked, placing my satchel on the stool beside me. Zane dropped his gaze to it for a second before looking at me again.

His shoulders sagged in defeat but as always, he recovered in a heartbeat. "I had to be in court today but the opposing side asked for a continuance." Something told me that he wasn't supposed to share that sliver of information with me. After all, he had to maintain the confidentiality of his clients. It didn't seem to bother him so I didn't think much of it. "I decided to come home to do some work but then I got hungry."

"What are you trying to make?" I asked, leaning forward on my elbows.

"I was trying to make baked Dijon salmon," he replied with a sigh. Zane wasn't a bad cook. He just preferred to do everything by the book. Literally, actually. I was someone who liked to experiment with flavours and quantities. According to Kat, Zane did relatively well in the kitchen for a guy. Her words, not mine.

"Okay. But why do you have a cheese grater?" I asked, pointing at the utensil in his hands. He looked down at the cookbook and frowned.

"I'm actually not sure." Chuckling to myself, I spun the cookbook towards me and glanced at the recipe.

When it came to cooking, I considered myself an amateur but my friends seemed to disagree. Scratch that. Kat and Hannah were the only people who I ever cooked for. They appeared to enjoy the stuff that I would put out for them.

"Did you preheat the oven?" I asked, looking up at him with an eyebrow raised.

His eyes flicked to the oven which was off. "No."

"Well, you need to do that before you do anything else," I said with a tilt of my head. My words sounded bossy and even a little bit bitchy. It wasn't intentional, of course, but Zane didn't know that.

Squinting his eyes, he opened his mouth but then his phone buzzed. Zane had two cell phones, one that he used for work, while the other one was for personal use. Most of the time, his personal cell was silent. It wasn't a shock when he took out his work phone from his pocket. "I really need to take this. I'll be right back," he said, lifting the phone to his ear.

I washed my hands at the sink and started chopping up some pecans. It wasn't long before Zane emerged from his office, mumbling about billable units. He studied the cookbook again. "How was your day?" he asked, shaking his head as he placed the grater back in its place.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Good, I guess." We got back our essays for one of my classes today and when I saw my grade I nearly fell over. Not because the marks were good or anything. Apparently, I hadn't understood Wuthering Heights that well.

Zane leaned against the counter. In a glass bowl, I mixed together mustard, butter, and honey. Then I used the knife to transfer the pecans onto a separate bowl, followed by the bread crumbs and parsley. After setting the bowls in front of Zane, I nudged him and pointed at the salmon. "You seem to be doing pretty well with this. Maybe you should continue," he suggested with a grin.

"Nice try, Hendrick. This is your dish. So, get to work. You will be judged on three things," I said in a mock formal tone, holding up three fingers. "The first is flavour, second is the presentation and finally it must remind me of a baked Dijon salmon." At the final requirement, I slapped the back of my hand against the palm of the other.

Zane tossed his head back and laughed, his body shaking slightly. It was a rare sight to see him laugh so wholeheartedly. Most of the time, he would give me small smiles when I would say something stupid. "You can't be serious," he finally managed to say.

"I may or may not have stayed up watching Cutthroat Kitchen last night," I said sheepishly, pulling the plates of salmon towards myself. Once again, Zane's phone buzzed. This time he stared at it for a few seconds before finally sighing and answering it.

He covered the phone with his hand and said, "Sorry but something has come up with one of my cases. I'll be back soon." With one hand he easily untied the apron and carefully placed it on the barstool.

I shrugged my shoulders and waved a hand at him. "Don't worry about it. I will finish up here." Flashing me a smile, he slipped into his office, softly closing the door behind him.

The fish sat on the counter, slightly moist and giving off a strange odour. After preheating the oven, I spread the paste across the salmon and then sprinkled the bread crumb mixture over it. Finally, I slipped the salmon into the oven to bake, humming a song to myself.

Almost two hours passed by and Zane hadn't appeared from his office. His food was on the counter, forgotten and cold as a stone. I was sitting on the couch, watching some random movie that I couldn't focus on. My empty plate sat on the coffee table in front of me. I was considering knocking on Zane's door when he emerged from the room, his phone pressed to his ear. He was in an intense conversation with someone. Without saying a word to me, he picked up the plate from the counter and turned towards his office.

When he passed by the couch, he stopped and held the phone against his shoulder. "Thanks for finishing this up for me," he said, lifting the plate up gently. "It looks awesome." With that, he sauntered back into the office.

A thought occurred to me about Zane. For someone who seemed so put together, he sure had a hard time adhering to the fact that the human body needed fuel to function. I remembered the day he came home with Indian food but was too tired to eat even a bite of it.

Maybe I was blowing things out of proportion. Zane was a fit guy who went to the gym on a regular basis. Not to mention the fact that he had enough muscles to make anybody swoon. But missing meals never did anybody good.